


Tell your man

by a_good_soldier



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Established Relationship, Face Slapping, Fisting, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:20:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29812482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_good_soldier/pseuds/a_good_soldier
Summary: Uh, the tags really say it all.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 3
Kudos: 82





	Tell your man

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Hozier's extremely horny Dinner and Diatribes. I wrote this in one sitting and edited it the next day if that gives you any indication of what my mental state has been like over the past few days. Remember when we could like, have sex with people we didn't live with? Lol
> 
> FYI everything in this fic is completely consensual but it is discussed in the moment, so if stuff like face slapping and putting your whole hand inside somebody else is the kind of stuff you feel should be negotiated in advance (which is totally reasonable), this might not be the fic for you.

“Is this what you wanted?” Cas asks, voice low, low as anything, as he pushes Dean up against the door.

Christ. “Yeah,” Dean breathes, and lets Cas press his shoulders back, step into him like he’s a great unstoppable force and Dean is more than movable. He’s flexible. He’s _pliant_. Cas’s hands are hot on the bare skin above his hipbones, his palms an unbelievable drag of sensation across Dean’s skin. “Cas, I’m— God, you don’t even know—”

“Dean,” Cas murmurs. That’s what gets Dean every time, his voice, the sound of him whenever Cas says his name like that. He loves looking at him but can barely do it now— they’re so close that Cas is just snapshots: blue eyes, stubbled jaw, black hair. Cas mouths across Dean’s jawline and Dean’s head tips back, gentle-like. He’d let Cas do whatever the hell he wants with him, he would, he _does_.

Dean flexes his fingers. He wants— ”I’m just—” and he does it, he puts his hands on Cas’s head, clenches his hair between his fingertips as Cas goes to fucking town on the skin under his jawbone. The first scrape of Cas’s teeth is a shot of adrenaline, God he’s so— so close, so _close_ —

“I could stay here for hours,” Cas whispers, hands gripping Dean’s body tight as if Dean is going anywhere. Like hell he is. He could stay here for hours, too. Cas steps back and Dean leans forward, blinking, like a plant to the sun, unsteady on his feet. He sees Cas’s mouth twitch up. “Look at you. You— _want_ me.”

“M’easy,” Dean drawls, but then that twitch in Cas’s mouth turns downwards, and he scrambles. “I’m— for you, I mean. Cas.”

“Yeah,” Cas says, but it’s—

“No,” and Dean pushes him forward, walks forward right into him, that marble statue of a body. Cas comes alive, comes human for him and Dean knows well enough to be grateful. “No, you don’t know. The way I feel ‘bout you—” and Dean’s throat catches because he knows. He knows he can’t say it. His eyes stutter around Cas’s gaze, and then down to his nose, his chin, down to those hands of his that could make Dean say anything if he only tried hard enough. Dean swallows. “You know.”

Cas smiles. “Yes, Dean, I know.” He pulls Dean into him, kisses him like that, there in the middle of the floor of Dean’s bedroom, upright enough for the two of them. His mouth is something new, something unheard of— Dean’s never been so lightheaded over anybody in his life. “Lie down?”

“Yeah.” Dean lets Cas push him around — lets Cas push him onto his back, onto the bed, in his jeans and a T-shirt just like Cas is. “You gonna—”

“I’d like—” and Cas inhales. Dean looks at him for a second. Cas, bright and brilliant and _broad_ , shoulders half a mile wide and the biceps to match, standing there between Dean’s legs like he owns him, his knee already half on the bed to claim his territory. Jesus _Christ_. Dean’s dick twitches in his pants, and Cas reaches down to set his palm on Dean’s thigh, and Dean’s head flops back, nerveless. Christ. Like Cas has a direct line to his dick, no matter where he touches, and this close— this close it’s like dynamite. “I’d like to keep this on, for now,” he says. “I want to focus on you. Is that all right?”

“I— Yeah, sure, I’ll just—” and — it’s the stupidest thing, because Dean’s in his goddamn forties and Cas is a fucking angel and all the rest of it — but Dean thinks, _I haven’t shaved_. He doesn’t even normally shave, but this, being on display, it feels like something you should prepare for. “How do you want me?”

“Like this, I think.” And then Cas amends, “I’d like you any way you’d like to be. I like you all the time, Dean.”

“That can’t be true,” Dean snorts, thinking about Cas’s face when Dean had stolen the last slice of pie out from under his nose yesterday, and Cas raises his eyebrow. Okay. Maybe Cas’s face had been a little fond, even then — and maybe Dean knows that _like_ isn’t what they’re really talking about anyway. Dean breathes in shakily. “Well,” he croaks out. “Me, too, y’know.”

Cas smiles, big and wide, and his profane hands slide up to Dean’s belt. “Can I?”

“Yeah, go for it.” Dean sits up just enough to pull his own shirt off, and then sprawls back as Cas pulls his jeans down, kneeling at the side of the bed to pull them off his ankles. “Cas—”

“Shh.”

Dean blinks up at his ceiling. His skin prickles from the cold, his muscles twitch— Cas presses a kiss to the inside of his left knee and Dean inhales, sharp. His hands span Dean’s shins, wrapping around them, pushing up to his knees, his lower thighs. The slide of them against his skin is— it’s electric, maybe is the way to say it, Dean’s hair catching on Cas’s calluses and just so fucking sensitive, all of it. Dean pushes himself up to his elbows to watch as Cas pushes his thighs apart. It’s those eyes of his, Dean thinks, looking at him. Cas looks him right in the eyes the whole goddamn time and Dean can’t look away.

“Shit, Cas,” he huffs, low and half-disbelieving, as Cas grips his knees tight, uses them as leverage to mouth up his thigh. The unbelievable part of it is how blissed out Cas looks, like he’s the happiest he’s ever been, tongue pressed to Dean’s skin, nose in the crook of his thigh, God— “You like it, huh?”

“Yes.” Cas stands up suddenly to pull Dean’s boxers off, too, and then pushing Dean bodily up the bed so Cas can kneel between his thighs. Fuck. He’s so— so _strong_ , Dean forgets that, that Cas could push him around like he’s nothing. That Cas _does_ push him around like he’s nothing. “Look at you,” Cas says — reverently, like he’s, like— well — and his hands grip Dean’s thighs. “Look at you.”

“You c’n look anytime you want, babe,” Dean says, because he can’t think about the way Cas is looking at him, overwhelmed and warmly content all at once. And then Cas’s shoulders block out the overhead light, suddenly, and Cas is leaning over him, covering him— “Cas—”

Cas’s hand reaches down, and then Cas thumbs across Dean’s face, starting from the crest of his cheekbone down to his ear. Dean breathes in heavy, inhales as Cas leans down— and Cas presses his thumb against Dean’s lower lip and Dean opens for him, easy, he knows it, and Cas sets the pad of his thumb against Dean’s tongue. “Suck,” Cas tells him, and Dean gasps, shivering all over with it, gets Cas’s thumb wet, hard already from it. “And—” and Cas takes his thumb out of his mouth and Dean follows it, follows him, mouth open and empty. “Shh, shh,” Cas says, and puts two fingers into Dean’s mouth and Dean is— he’s fucking grateful for it. He sucks at Cas’s fingers and imagines— imagines it’s Cas’s dick in him, loves that, loves thinking about Cas over him, covering him, broad and big and filling him up.

His eyes close and Dean loses himself to it. Cas’s two fingers become three in his mouth, keeping him open, obscene, his tongue out and lapping at Cas’s fingers. Cas’s knee presses in, just a bit, against Dean’s dick and Christ, fuck, Dean’s hips jerk and his thighs squeeze, just a little, just enough to feel it as Cas keeps him in his place with that hand in his mouth, thumb catching at the outside of his jawline, God.

And then Cas takes his fingers out of his mouth. Dean _moans_ , blinking up at Cas, Jesus. “Cas— c’mon—” Dean says _— whines_ — bites his bottom lip just to fill the void of sensation. “Just—”

“I have you,” Cas says, trailing his wet fingers down Dean’s torso, skirting his nipples just close enough to leave Dean trembling on the bed. “I have you. Let me—” and Cas presses against Dean’s hole, rubbing gentle circles as Dean tilts his head back, pushes himself into the sheets for the sensation of it, to feel friction anywhere he can get it. “Dean. Open your eyes.”

Dean opens his eyes, doesn’t even want to imagine what kind of expression is on his face as he looks at Cas. Their eyes lock, and Dean can’t get enough of it, Cas’s brow furrowed as he watches Dean’s face for clues, as he presses into him and Dean’s chin tips up and his breath hitches and his eyes stay right on Cas, all through it. “It’s amazing,” Cas murmurs, pressing two fingers into him, not quite dry and not wet either, not anymore, just rough enough for Dean to feel it at that, their single point of contact. “You almost look— surprised, by how good it feels. It’s the most beautiful thing in the world.”

“Yeah?” Dean blinks, and finally — because he can’t take it, God, Cas’s right hand delicate in his ass and his left hand steadying himself on the bed — he brings a hand up to rub his own nipple. “S’it ok if—”

“I—” Cas’s throat clicks, and he watches Dean rub his nipple, intently. His eyes snap back up to Dean and he says, “You’re beautiful, and I want you to do what feels good. And, I want to— punish you for doing that without my permission.”

Dean’s hand falls nervelessly to his side. Jesus _Christ_. His mouth is suddenly dry. Cas’s face turns worried and his fingers still. “I only meant—”

“Okay,” Dean says, already excited over it, his knees trembling. Cas’s fingers are still inside him and they’re not fucking _moving_ , and Dean pushes himself down, fucks himself on Cas’s fingers because he— he wants— and Cas makes this noise, this small hurt-sounding noise and gives Dean what he wants. Gasping, Dean asks, “What do you— what were you thinking of?”

“I want to slap your face,” Cas says, all in a rush, looking into Dean’s eyes— no, looking just to the side of them, to the ridge of Dean’s cheek. _Fuck_. “Is that— would you—”

“Fuck, yes,” Dean says, and in one immediate, fluid motion, Cas slaps him.

The shock of it rings across his face, and Dean blinks back up at Cas, tears in his eyes mostly from the surprise of it than any pain, and Cas’s fingers crook inside him and Dean’s thighs jerk. “Christ, fuck, _Cas_ —”

Cas pours more lube onto his fingers and pushes three into Dean, fuck, he’s so goddamn _full_ — and Cas’s left hand comes down to grip his hip tightly, bruise-tight, and his fingers curl luxuriously inside of Dean’s body. His thumb presses in under Dean’s balls and Dean shivers, rocking back onto Cas’s fingers, fucking sloppy, pathetic for it. “Cas— Cas, can you—” God. _God_.

Cas, of course, knows what he wants. He leans down to kiss Dean’s chest, just to the side of his nipple, and then— and then he catches Dean’s nipple in his teeth, licking at it, messy and brutal and Dean shakes, hand coming up to grip Cas’s hair, leg curled around his hips. “Fuck— fuck—”

“Would you like another finger?” Cas asks him, looking up, and then— “Or do you want me to hit you again?”

“Sh— shit,” Dean breathes, looking at Cas — still clothed, still wearing his goddamn jeans, half of his hand inside Dean already. Yeah. Yeah Dean wants another finger, wants Cas all over him and inside of him. “Both, please, babe—”

Cas slaps him across the face, hard, with his left hand, and Dean’s mouth opens on pure instinct with his cheek pressed into the bed. “Thank you,” he breathes, moans, feels Cas’s fingers brush up against his prostate and nearly cries with it. “Gimme— another, another one, another finger, Cas—”

“You’re so _beautiful_ ,” Cas sighs, just as he slides his pinky in, and Dean closes his eyes, rides the wave of sensation that rolls over him.

It’s visceral, Cas inside him, and he just— he reaches for his dick and Cas slaps his hand away, sharp and stinging against the inside of his wrist, and Dean flat out moans. Christ, he feels like he’s about to _cry_. “Cas, Cas, I’m— please, please—”

“Not yet,” Cas grits out, fucking into him harder, in and out like he’d fuck Dean with his cock and that’s— it’s— Dean’s hips tighten and his breath skips, so fucking desperate.

“You can hit me again,” Dean says, asking for it, “I just— please lemme— touch my dick, you can do anything you want—”

Cas’s hand wraps around his dick and Dean shudders, croaks out something only vaguely resembling human sound. “Jesus _Christ_ , Cas,” he whispers once he gets his voice back, looking down at Cas, pressed up into him as deep as he can be with his hand tight around Dean’s dick. Cas looks up at him, and Dean begs, like a fucking idiot who doesn’t want a handjob, “Please slap me—” and Cas takes his hand off Dean’s dick and backhands him across the face and Dean presses himself down into the mattress for the sheer pleasure of it.

Cas asks, “Would you— would you say it again?”

At first, Dean has no idea what he means. “Please?” he tries, and Cas’s fingers pump into him faster as Cas shakes his head, and then Dean realizes— ”Thank you,” he says, and Cas’s head drops like he’s had his strings cut. “Thank you, Cas, for slapping my face.”

“Shit,” Cas grits out, under his breath, pressing up to the bottom knuckle as he shudders. “You don’t— you can’t imagine what you sound like.”

“I can guess,” Dean says, because his voice is wrecked. And normally around now he’d be asking for Cas’s dick as impolitely as he can manage, but something about this — about Cas, and about thanking him for hitting him — makes him more willing to see where Cas is going. He spreads his legs, and Cas presses in further, and it’s— Dean’s breath catches abruptly.

“Cas,” he whispers, and he can hear it in his voice, the nerves. “Cas, are you—”

“Would you like me to?” Cas says, low and nervous, too, and Dean knows if he said no Cas wouldn’t ever mention it again. But the thing is — the thing of it is, Dean loves feeling full with Cas, gets harder than anything over the idea of Cas in him as deep as he can be, and this—

“Yeah, Cas,” Dean says, and Cas pushes, and it’s like he’s— it’s like he has a new space inside him, just for Cas, the sparking and desperate sensation in him finally sated by Cas’s fingers. Cas’s hand. His hand slips in to the base of his thumb, his knuckles pushing past the rim into him, pushing out against the inside of him, and Dean groans, loud and cracked open. “Fuck, fuck, Cas— Cas, is that— is that—”

“All but my thumb,” Cas says, sounding— sounding almost surprised by it, like a, like a scientist with a new discovery, except Dean can see the sweat beading at his forehead, the tent in his jeans. He presses that thumb up behind Dean’s balls and Dean— he fucking almost whites out, head thrown back against the mattress as his hips push up into Cas’s hand. Good Christ. When he comes back to himself, his mouth is open and he has tears in his eyes, he knows it, and he’s harder than he’s ever been.

He swallows. “Are you gonna—”

“Do you want—” Cas looks up. He tilts his head and turns his hand gently inside Dean, and Dean shivers right on schedule.

“I need— I need something, I need—” Dean doesn’t even know what he wants, isn’t sure he’ll make it if Cas touches his dick but he needs sensation to take the edge off, not sure if he’s feeling pleasure or pain with the fullness in his ass. He knows he’s drooling but he can barely move his arms, has no idea what Cas sees when he looks at him, because he just feels sweaty and overwhelmed and so goddamn desperate for touch, so sensitive he could come from anything.

Cas bites the corner of his own lip, and then reaches up to slide a palm across Dean’s nipple. “Is this—”

“God, yeah—” Dean says, as Cas pinches his nipple, thumbs across it and fuck it hurts, it’s so sensitive it hurts so fucking bad but it’s good, too.

“Do you want—” And Cas looks at him, meaningfully, and God Dean has a new kink because yeah, yeah, he wants that, too—

“Please,” Dean says, and Cas slaps him, open-palm across his cheekbone, the force of it pushing Dean’s face into the mattress, and with his eyes closed and his mouth open and willing Dean chokes out, hips riding Cas’s fingers, “Thank you, Cas.”

“Perfect,” Cas says, and then he presses his thumb against Dean’s rim, pressing in and in and in and Dean’s eyes fly open at the feeling of Cas’s fingers, all five of them in him, and he looks up at Cas and Cas looks at him and Dean thinks this is the fullest he’s ever felt and maybe the hungriest he’s ever been for it, like— the drag of Cas’s skin inside of him is extravagant, pure gluttony, the entire idea of it completely unnecessary, hedonism, and—

And Dean whines, in the back of his throat, as Cas pushes in. Cas pushes past the first set of knuckles, and Dean moans, long and low. “Cas,” he breathes, whispers, “wait, I need—” and Cas waits patiently as Dean’s hands clench and unclench in the sheets, his chest cold from the sweat. “Oh God, it’s so— Cas, it’s so much—”

“You’re doing perfectly,” Cas says, and leans over to kiss him, tongue inside him and messy and wet the way Dean feels all over. His hand shifts and Dean knows his brows are drawing together because it is, it’s the most shocking thing he’s ever felt— not the act itself, not like fisting is completely beyond the pale for him, conceptually speaking, but just, the sensation of it. The fullness of it. It’s the least lonely Dean’s ever felt.

Once Dean has calmed down a bit, Cas pushes in a little more and Dean shakes— ”Yeah, yeah, Cas,” he grits out, “fuck— _fuck_ —”

“You’re just taking it,” Cas says, matter of factly but it’s the dirtiest thing Dean’s ever heard Cas say in his goddamn life. “I push—” and he does push, “—and you just take it—” and Dean does, lets Cas fuck into him. Like he was fucking made for it.

“How far in are you?” Dean asks. Mostly because he’s curious, but also because he wants to hear Cas say it.

Cas doesn’t disappoint. He runs his free hand up Dean’s side, and then back down to his hip, that favorite anchor point of his, and he says, “You’ve taken almost my whole hand.”

Dean leans back, blinks up at the ceiling. “Christ.” He relaxes into it, tries to let Cas push further, and Cas does— he pushes in, and then suddenly, it becomes easier. Suddenly, Cas’s whole hand is inside him, one great point of sensory ecstasy— and Cas’s free hand thumbs along Dean’s rim where it’s stretched out around his wrist, and Dean’s legs shake, his toes curl as he crooks his neck up to watch Cas watching himself fuck into Dean.

“Is that—” Dean asks, voice cracking, because he has to confirm it. Because he wants Cas to say it.

“Yes. My whole hand is inside of you.” Cas turns his wrist experimentally and Dean’s hips jolt up. God. “Do you like it?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I like it,” Dean whispers. It’s true, and yet— Dean can barely _move_. Normally he’d be— he’d be more active, but like this, he’s just— he’s at Cas’s disposal. “How do you want me?”

“Do you want—” and Cas pushes into him just a bit further, and Dean chokes out a breath, a small but sharp _oh_ punching out of his throat. Cas pulls back, and then presses in, a little back-and-forth fuck that only highlights how fucking _full_ Dean is.

“S’good,” Dean murmurs, finally sliding his eyes closed when Cas hits a perfect spot, Dean splayed out over the bed, knees spread over Cas’s thighs, wide open. “Oh God, it’s good, Cas—”

“I want to—”

“Anything, babe—”

Cas shoves his free fingers into Dean’s mouth and Dean takes them, God— it’s so good, Cas’s fingers on his tongue, pressing against his cheeks, making him— filling him up, using him, making him useful— Dean chokes out a moan and Cas pushes in further, fucking him at both ends and fuck, fuck, it’s so goddamn good the way he does it. Dean tries to keep his eyes on Cas, and Cas looks at him, too, watching him like he wants to figure out what Dean wants before Dean even knows it.

He pulls back abruptly and Dean gasps, spit all over his face— ”Cas, Cas, are you gonna—”

The slap is perfect, filthy with Dean’s own spit and sharp, humiliating, like Dean’s a fucking animal, and it makes him— fuck—

It makes him _come_ , goosebumps up his arms as Dean shakes— “Th— thank, thank you, C— _Cas_ ,” he gasps, or tries to gasp, not even sure if his voice is coming out of his mouth while his dick jerks against his belly.

Cas strokes Dean through it with his wet fingers, gathering up Dean’s come on his fingers before shoving them back into Dean’s mouth. “Beautiful,” Cas grits out, pressing into Dean’s prostate as Dean wrecks himself on Cas’s body, spilling come and tears all over himself. “You can’t imagine how beautiful you are right now, Dean.”

He presses down against Dean’s tongue before releasing him, and Dean tries to catch his breath. “Fuck, Cas,” he says, as Cas delicately tries to pull out of his ass. Admittedly, it’s not very easy going, and Dean closes his eyes, shuddering through the aftershocks Cas pulls out of him as he slides his hand out, slowly. His dick twitches again when Cas gets to the widest part of his hand— and he can’t hold in the whimper when Cas’s hand finally slips out. “Jesus Christ. Jesus _Christ_.”

“Was that—” Cas looks at him. And then he maneuvers himself across the bed to sit next to Dean’s shoulders, palm cradling Dean’s face. “Was that okay?”

“Was that _okay_ , he asks,” Dean laughs, curling into Cas’s knees, uncaring about the various liquids all over his chest. “Cas.” He reaches up and Cas meets him halfway, lets Dean pull him down so Dean can kiss the corner of Cas’s mouth lazily. “It was fuckin’ awesome.”

“That’s good,” Cas says, “because it made me want to come all over you.“

“God, yeah,” Dean says, rolling onto his back as Cas pushes himself up on his knees, leaning over his face. He watches, mouth falling open as Cas unzips himself, pulls his dick out of his boxers. “Fuck, are you gonna— Cas, are you gonna come on my face—”

Cas slaps his dick down onto Dean’s mouth and Dean slides his tongue out, tries to mouth against Cas’s dick before he pulls it away again. “Don’t be like that, baby—”

“I don’t need your mouth,” Cas says, stroking himself over Dean’s face, breath hitching, “I’m already—”

Dean closes his eyes as Cas comes all over him. “Dean,” he moans quietly, at the end of it, and fucks across Dean’s face, his cheeks, presses the head of his dick in and out of Dean’s mouth. “Profane. It’s profane, how beautiful you are. You’d tempt any of us to damnation.”

“Lucky you’re the only one I want,” Dean says hoarsely. “No other damnation here.”

“I know.” Cas kisses Dean’s forehead, just about the only dry part of him, and then slides down to cuddle him. “I’m very lucky.”

The two of them lie there for a moment, until the sweat gets too cold for Dean to tolerate being extremely goddamn naked. Dean blows out a breath. Good _God_. He wiggles a little, just to assess his range of motion, and then looks over at Cas. “Shower?”

“I’m tired,” Cas grumbles, but he sits up anyway. “If you insist.”

Dean kisses his shoulder, wincing at the soreness as he sits up, too. “Just want us to be comfy,” he says, feeling sweet and endorphin-high. “Love you,” he whispers, and then stumbles out of bed.

Cas catches his wrist. Pulls him down for a real kiss, and whispers _I love you too_ into Dean’s mouth. And then — it’s unbelievable, as if he gets a free pass just because he’s gorgeous and romantic and the best thing that’s ever happened to Dean — Cas grins, and says, like he’s trying on a role, “Love that ass, too,” and gives him a little spank before walking to the bathroom.

Dean laughs through their whole shower.


End file.
